The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [171]
“There was no sign of the dog,” Daffyd said quietly. “It might have escaped.” I shook my head, knowing Darga would never leave Jik in danger by choice.
I wept myself empty of tears.
Daffyd went to bury what remained of Jik’s body and returned looking pale and weary.
“Daffyd,” I said. “You have to go now, while the pass is still open, or it will be too late. Take Dragon.”
“I’ll carry you,” he said. I shook my head. I would slow them to no purpose. Not even Roland could help me now. I was sure too much pain had accumulated.
Dragon was less easy to convince when she woke. She only agreed when I told her Daffyd’s friends would be coming to help me. Jik had told her about Obernewtyn, and she had built it up in her mind to be a place of endless happiness where everyone was always safe. Her horror at the manner of Jik’s death made her vulnerable, and I exploited this shamelessly.
I made them go immediately, maintaining a calm façade for Dragon’s sake. I shook Daffyd’s hand, pressing my armband into it. “This will make them believe you,” I said softly.
“Is there anything … anyone …” Daffyd hesitated.
I thought of Rushton as I had last seen him, his hand raised to me through the driving rain. There had always been a strange, prickly affection between us, a bond of sorts. It was hard to believe I would not see him again.
I smiled. “Tell him … tell them, goodbye …,” I said.
When they had gone, I sank gratefully into a black feverish sleep filled with dreams, but I did not release the suppressing. At the end, life and sanity were too sweet to give up voluntarily. I knew it would not be long before the barrier gave way of its own volition.
I dreamed a horse with wings came and carried me to the mountaintops. I dreamed Darga was there and singing to me in Jik’s high, sweet voice. I dreamed of Maruman, his fur ruffled by the winds. I dreamed of a voice inside my mind calling and calling.
I dreamed … of birds.
23
THE SOUND OF a breaking branch in the silence of the devastated valley dragged me from my feverish drowsing. I had imagined myself beyond fear, but the notion came to me that the sound had been made by a predator seeking easy prey in the aftermath of the firestorm.
I stared out of the cave, craning my neck as far as I could to keep from using my legs. I dared not overload my mind with any more pain. Miraculously, the suppressing was still intact, although my vision and hearing seemed distorted.
I could see nothing outside but blackened trees and earth and a drifting haze of smoke. There was no sign of life anywhere, but I felt I was being watched. My scalp prickled, and I groped for a rock to use as a weapon.
“Who’s there?” I called, my voice a dry, frightened croak.
Letting my mind loose in desperation, I was surprised to find myself listening to a mental dialogue.
“What do you think it is?” one mind asked.
“A funaga, of course. What else makes such ugly noises?” came the response.
Astonished at the strength of minds that were clearly nonhuman, I projected, farsending my own thoughts. “Who/where are you?”
“It spoke!” came a third mental voice. Younger than the others and less controlled, I thought. There were quick shushing thoughts from the other two, who recognized the significance of my mental questions.
I gathered myself, trying to decide if I was dreaming.
Forcing down a mad urge to giggle hysterically, I made an effort to sound normal. “I know you’re out there. There are three of you, and I can hear your